Ein Bißchen Verrückt

"I can do it!" I said, and went behind the counter. One of the ladies wanted an Irish Coffee, and as it wasn't on the menu and no one knew how to make it, I volunteered. To my question where the whiskey was the owner of the restaurant pointed to the Jack Daniels on the shelf above. "No, no, no. That's wrong. We need Irish." Luckily they had a bottle of Jameson too, and soon I was mixing away. Next challenge was the coffee, 'cause seconds earlier someone else almost emptied the thermos and I was left with only half a cup. Amazing how quickly ones mind works when slightly intoxicated! In a jiffy I had Rebecca (the owners daughter) making an espresso to fill up the Irish Coffee with. Last there was the issue of cream. First they thought there was only a can of spray cream. Not good for a perfect Irish, but sadly it's what you often get at bars. Then it turned out that there wasn't a can after all. I was happy, and they told me they where preparing the cream in the kitchen. When I tried to explain how I needed the cream to be whipped just enough to to be able to float on top, they simply told me to run upstairs and instruct the chef my self. So I did. The cream was perfect - for some dessert that is, sweet, thick and creamy! 'Cause first I rambled about in Norwegian, which didn't work. Italian restaurant, Italian chef. Obviously. By the time we fully understood each other it was too late, and there was no chance of pouring the cream in to the glass over the back of a spoon as I had intended. (Had this been in a country where the cream is richer, it would've been floating without whipping it first...) I finished the drink and handed it over. The lady was pleased, but I realized she would have been just as happy with the spray cream. She grabbed a spoon and stirred the cream in to the coffee/whiskey!

There was music as well. Lena, who was in charge of this event, had more or less pulled in the musicians from the street. But boy, does she has a nose for talent. This young lad sang in Spanish as if he was born in Mexico, and he played his guitar with great inspiration. (By the way, I'll tell you more about Lena in a couple of weeks I guess, as I'm about to start up with her agency these days. Exciting and a bit scary at the same time.)

In all this slightly chaotic festiveness, there was still a business to run. In the restaurant there were four generations represented. Old great-grandfather sat on a chair in a corner, grinning toothlessly. Next was grandpa, the chef. Father, and owner, was for the night being nothing but all Italian, loving every minute of this openhearted familiarity. But giving away free wine simply won't work in Norway, and the lovely young daughter made her best to take care of her fathers interests. The mother was there as well, but confused as I was by the owners obvious flirting with me, I had to ask her how everything was connected. They were divorced, she told me. Not that it made any difference to me, I wasn't interested really, but it showed me that getting along with your ex can work fine.

The place was filled with regular customers as well, some more at home than others. The four Canadian ladies looked a bit reserved, but took photos of the joyous people around. The Canadians were replaced by a whole bunch from Rome, and they certainly enjoyed the atmosphere. The German couple though, I think might have looked forward to a more quiet evening. I sat down next to the woman and told her it was a somewhat unusual setting that night. Even found a reminiscence of my old German vocabulary in the back of my mind. "Heute abend - ein bißchen verrückt" I said with the biggest smile.